


Fallen

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [21]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the <i>Live By The Sword ‘verse.  </i>Set closely after the events in <i>Aerials </i>in this same ‘verse.  One cop, one heir to a crime dynasty.  The not so distant future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of where I start to like my writing a bit more, and Lance's transition back into his family's life begins. Lyrics from Evanescence's album Fallen.

 

 

 

#  _   
_

_You don't remember me, but I remember you_

“Beta team! Now!”

The men in kevlar surged forward, guns held chest high.  The two men in front crouched down as they were taught to, the moves memory impulses now.  Officer Benoit stood at the rear, his lower body protected by the men in front of him.  His gun raised like the others, he hesitated only a fraction of a second, then opened fire when his captain ordered it.

It was only after the riot was quelled that Lance noticed his fingers shaking, and the large bruise in the pit of his arm where his weapon had kicked back on him.

*

“Guin, I told you,” Lance answered quietly into the phone, “I can’t.  I’m not attending anything that has to do with the family now, and you know it.  Don’t get catty with me,” he hissed, taking a drag off his cigarette, tapping the ash over the balcony, “I’m not doing it.  Arthur means too much to me.  I will not.  Hurt him again.  Or myself.”

He listened in silence for a moment, the smoke curling around his head like devil’s horns, his eyes disappearing into the blackness of the night. 

“Guinevere.  You know I love you.  I always will.  But … things get bad for me when I’m around you, and them.  You know that!  You’ve seen me.  How in the hell could you possibly overlook that,” he sighed, stubbing out his smoke.  “I’ve got to go.  Arthur’ll be home soon.  I don’t want to upset him.”

He frowned into the receiver.  “Yeah – I may be his bitch, but at least he loves me.  Which is more than I can say for you.”

He hung up the phone, resisting the urge to send it sailing over the balcony.  Instead he hung his head, and concentrated on taking ten deep breaths before doing anything else. 

Gods, but he did miss her.

“Who are you talking to?”

_I look in the mirror and see your face_

Arthur made his way wearily to Lancelot, who was leaning against the iron fence that surrounded the balcony – one of the things Arthur loved best about his loft.  He wrapped an arm around the younger man’s waist, pressing a tired kiss to his temple.  

Lance toyed with the phone, trying to avoid Arthur’s eyes so he could lie to him.  “No one,” he said at last, pocketing the thing.  “Sales call.”

“You sounded awfully angry at them,” Arthur smiled, “poor telemarketer.”  He sighed with relief at being home.  His own day had been rather long as well.  “How are you?  I heard your call on the radio today.  Got the whole thing squashed pretty quick, huh?”

Lance brightened at the work talk.  “Yeah.  Easy one.  Stupid kids – don’t know why they bother.  Century City is a ghost town – and full of dead ends and blind corners.  Simple to take them down.  And we were outnumbered too.”

Arthur smiled; it was good to hear Lance talking positively about his new assignment.  There had been a few weeks there where Arthur wasn’t sure if he would like it or not.  “Captain Cragen is a good guy.  I have every confidance in him,” he commented, “although don’t put away your rock climbing gear yet.  The man loves a weird ambush.”

“Seems to be alright,” Lance agreed, turning to walk back into the loft.  Arthur’s arm slid down his, ending up grasping his fingers.

“You okay?” the other man asked, cocking his head, stopping his motion with a tug.  “You seem quiet.”

_Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck._

“Arthur – just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean something’s wrong,” he said, eyes ticked away from the intense green gaze that always scalded him, “I’m just tired.  Same as you.  Come on,” he distracted, pulling on Arthur’s fingers, “let’s go eat.”

Arthur’s head righted itself, but alarm bells were still ringing inside.  “If you say,” he replied mildly.  “…as long as it’s not fried food, I’ll be glad to eat,” he commented, trying to make the other man laugh.  He succeeded, Lance pulling a face as he did.

“Not in this lifetime.  Come on.”

They made their way indoors, the last of the cigarette ash drifting off into the sky, which had begun to cloud up.

*

_I knew you loved me then_

Sweat dripped down Lance's face as he collapsed weakly against to Arthur's chest, the sheets of the bed tangled and wrapped around both their legs.  Arthur laughed throatily and wound his arms around Lance’s torso, not caring about the salty wetness that glued them together.  He hadn’t been this happy in quite some time.

So why did he feel … wrong?  His damn insomnia had been worse lately, and the sleep he had been getting kept being interrupted by strange dreams that woke him, sweating and panicking.

He tried to shake it off.

“Just breathe,” he instructed, trying to do the same.  He was getting older – and it took longer to come back from hours of intense intimacy.  Thank God he had the following day off work.

He laughed again at that thought.  Lance rose up slightly, his eyebrow cocked, his chest still plastered to Arthur’s.  “What’s funny?” he croaked, then cleared his throat.

“I am,” Arthur answered, moving so he pulled out of the other man’s body slowly, both of them wincing slightly at the change.  Lance lay on his side, his right arm splayed upward, his head resting on the bicep.  He was still trembling lightly, but managed to set one hand on Arthur’s waist as the other man rolled to face him.

“Yeah?  Remember what I told you about your horrid sense of humor?  It still hasn’t gotten any better.”

Arthur was reminded just how lucky he was to have this in his life – thank God for distractions, especially ones of this sort.  He smiled.  “Fuck off.  I’m laughing at myself, not at some lame joke I tried to pass off as humor.  Believe me, I’ve learnt my lesson there.”

He slid forward, resting his face next to Lance’s.  “I just think it’s funny that I manage to dredge up the strangest thoughts after sex.  What does that say about you, hmm?”  His brow furrowed in mock worry.  “And what does that say about me?”

Lance sputtered, then smiled helplessly.  “I’m not going to ask what you thought of.  Knowing you, it was probably something money or work related.”

As Arthur frowned for real, Lance wiped the expression off his face by sealing his lips over the other man’s, then pulled back to grin.  “I’m teasing.  Good lord, I’m sticky,” he added, feeling his thigh, “what the hell was that stuff?”  He sniffed at it.  “Arthur,” he admonished, “we have oil.  What did you buy?”

“I liked this,” he mumbled, blush heating his face and neck.  He nuzzled into Lance's shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look at his laughing eyes.  “So I bought it.”

“It smells like chocolate,” Lance added, sniffing again.  “Oh god.  I’m checking all the mail from now on.  What catalogue did you get suckered into this time?”

“Does that mean you want me to cancel the handcuff order?” Arthur answered, innocent expression on his face.  “They have fur inside.”

Lancelot’s jaw hung open, then he slapped his hand on Arthur’s rump as the other man laughed.  “If you want handcuffs, just go get my bag,” he answered, satisfied at the redness that brought back to Arthur’s face.

*

_Don't try to fix me I'm not broken_

Arthur’s laptop whirred quietly, and he rested his feet on the coffeetable in front of him as Lance slept on in his bed, both of them showered (which had taken longer than Arthur had anticipated – perhaps he wasn’t as old as he had thought) and sufficiently oil free.  The main screen booted up, and Arthur made a confused noise as the thing announced “you’ve got mail,” and popped up Lancelot’s account automatically.

“Must have forgotten to sign off,” he murmured, about to log off for him when the subject line and sender of an email caught his eye.

_From:[guin.b@benoitintl.net](mailto:gwen.b@benoitintl.net)_

_Subject:  Meeting_

Shit. 

Arthur wasn’t one to pry.  He would never, ever go snooping in Lance’s private affairs, but…he knew that the other man hadn’t heard from his sister in quite some time.  What was this about?  It made him nervous just to see her name.

“Fuck it,” he whispered and opened the mail.

After reading for a few minutes, he felt his gut twist, and he logged out.

Shutting the laptop down, he closed his eyes, and leant his head back on the sofa.  “Damn it,” he sighed softly.  “Damn.”

He stood, finally closing the lid of the computer, and moved away from the sofa as if the piece of electronics would grow teeth and bite him.  He wouldn’t be surprised if it did.

Rubbing his stubbly face, he made his way on stiff legs to the giant window/door, the moon high in the sky, clouds rolling over the blackness like cotton candy.

Those rumors he had been hearing – they drifted through his mind like the clouds, forcing him to think on things he didn’t want to think on, or even remember.

Lancelot, coked up, grinning at him saliciously in court.  Arthur testifying against him.  In front of him.  The judge letting him go – and Arthur not being sorry about it.  Being relieved, actually.

Not being able to focus on work, too many thoughts of Lancelot and his family, the horrid things they would still do because they had managed to buy a judge to get their golden boy out of court.

And Arthur didn’t care.  He didn’t want Lance in jail.  But he hadn’t wanted innocents to die, either.

When the other man had made the decision to step away from his family, Arthur had thought some type of guiding power had intervened on his behalf.  He had never been so grateful for anything…

…but now?

Was he going back?  Was he going to turn back into that drug snorting shell that held nothing of Arthur’s closest friend and lover? 

Was he going to leave?

Arthur wasn’t sure if he could take that again.  He smacked his forehead against the glass once, and shut his eyes.

*

The morning was spectacularly bright and sunny, and Arthur tried to enjoy it as he made eggs and bacon for breakfast.  His coffee ready, he took a huge sip, inhaling the steam, trying to be calm.  His eyes had bags under the bags, he was sure of it.  He had also nicked his cheek shaving, and he was still scattered and distracted.

Three hours of sleep just wasn’t enough.

“Morning,” came the drawn out word, yawn punctuating the end of it.  Arms went ‘round his torso, and Lance's mouth pecked at his neck.  “Oh my god, are you making the cholesterol special?  What are you feeling guilty for?”

_You saw me mourning my love for you and touched my hand_

“What?  Nothing,” Arthur answered, pulling away after a perfunctory kiss to finish scrambling the eggs.  He ignored the look of disbelief on Lance's face, fixing them both a plate of food, pouring coffee for the other man.

He took a seat at the table, the sun making his eyes almost clear jade. 

Eyebrow cocked, Lance joined him slowly.  “Arthur?” he said, his voice reflecting his thoughts.  “What is it?”

“I told you, nothing,” Arthur shrilled, then cleared his throat.  “I’m just tired.  Didn’t sleep well.”  He took a hasty sip of coffee, then cut into his breakfast.

“I noticed,” Lance said dryly, “I spent most of the night alone.”

Arthur risked a look at the other man, then reached out a tentative hand, covering Lance’s with his.  “Sorry.”

One corner of Lance's mouth rose, and he raised their hands, kissing the palm of Arthur’s gently.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’m used to your insomnia by now.”  He let the other man’s hand drop, then eyed his food.  “Damn.  I love bacon,” he sighed happily, picking his up, his eyes closing in bliss as he ate.

_Close, Castus._

“What do you have planned for today?” he asked Lance through a mouthful of eggs, thinking normal discussion might change his mood.  The other man thought, then answered.  “Martial arts training.  New guy interested in learning some stuff from the Bo staff master,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows, “then probably fire arms practice.  I’m still fucking up my cross draw.”

“Not as far as I can tell,” Arthur replied.  “But more training never hurt anyone.”  He took another bite of food, watching Lance closely as he did so.

Chin in hand, the other man sighed and met Arthur’s gaze.  “What?”

Too late Arthur realized he’d been staring, and he cleared his throat to cover his embarassment.  “What what?  Nothing.  I’m just eating.”

“Arthur, my love,” Lance said, a drawn out breath accompanying the words, “you’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen, and I’m not sure how many times I’ll have to tell you that before you’ll believe it.  You’re worried about something, and I want to know what.”

Lance kept his eyes locked with the green ones across the table from him; _surely he can’t know Guin called last night?_

_Then what is it?_

“You’re giving me the major heebies, Arthur,” he added when the other man didn’t answer right away.  “Tell.  Me.”

Arthur shoved back from the table, his face taking on the smooth lines of a statue.

He looked at his hands, then looked at the table, then finally, Lance.

“I can’t,” he stated quietly, “I can’t tell you because I can’t lie to you.  And I don’t want to think there’s any possibility that what I’m worried about might actually be accurate.”

“Okay, now you’re just making me angry,” Lance shot to his feet as well, coming around the table, hand gripping Arthur’s forearm.  He was a few inches shorter than the older man, but no less fierce.  “What the hell?  Spill it.  Now.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened in anger and pain, and Lance had to convince himself not to back down.  He had to know. 

Arthur jerked his arm out of the tight grasp Lance had on it, and crossed it over the other one.  “Lance, don’t make me do this.  If I just ignore it, it’ll be fine.”

_Good god.  Did I actually say that?_

“If you just ignore it?  Ignore what?  Arthur – what the fuck?”

Lancelot’s eyes shone, anger and frustration suddenly filling them, and Arthur’s gut flip flopped as he eyed his partner.  His so much more than that.

And therein lay the problem.  Should he be truthful and hurt Lance to no end?  Or should he stay quiet –

and hurt him more?

“I can’t.”

The words came quietly, carried on frigid air to Lance’s disbelieving ears.  He stiffened, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but he ignored them.

“Then what am I doing here?” Lance replied just as quietly. 

_Closing your eyes to disappear_

They stared at each other, Arthur aching, not understanding how they had come to this so quickly, Lance confused and full of rage, unwanted but familiar, it threatened to take his mouth and force him to say things he’d never be able to forgive himself for.

Unfamiliar, but remembered.  A bitter taste of metal filled his tongue, and he swallowed thickly.

“I’m going to shower.  This isn’t finished,” he bit off at last.  “I’ve made a lot of changes for you, Arthur.  A lot of difficult and painful ones, but changes that were worth it in the end.  I love you more than anything, more than anyone in my life,” he shook his head, his right hand scraping through his messy hair.  “So much that I’m willing to give you the chance to explain yourself.  I love you,” he repeated, moving so he was standing face to face with Arthur, whose skin was pale, his eyes wide and injured, the shadows under them standing out enough to make Lance wince with his next words.

“I love you, but I won’t let you walk on me.  We said we’d respect each other this time, Arthur.  You’re not respecting me.”

He walked toward the stairs, his heart hammering, hands shaking so he had to put them in the pockets of the robe he wore, which of course smelled like its owner, which made their conversation all the more difficult.

Arthur remained frozen in place, as if he were glued to the floor.  Suddenly he blinked, and was next to Lance faster than the other man could breathe.

“Are you meeting with Guin?”

Lance stopped walking, one foot on the stairs.  He turned toward Arthur, the creaking of his neck almost audible.  “What?” he asked quietly.

“Are you going to see Guin?” Arthur repeated, slowing his speech as if Lance were deaf or stupid.  His hand was on Lance’s arm; they were both stock still, a strange tableau of frozen bodies and boiling emotions.  Arthur almost winced at the cheesiness of it, but he truly only cared what Lance was going to say.  And how to explain how he knew about the meeting?

“Why would you think that?  You know how I get when I’m around them,” the other man replied, taking one step back so he was off the stairs.  He cocked his head, eyes still red, face confused.  It was better than anger, Arthur thought, so he persued the conversation.

“I know.  Believe me, I do.  That’s why I’m surprised,” he answered, calming slightly, his hand still holding Lance in place, “that she’d call you.”

_Caller ID.  Right.  Quick thinking, Arthur._

Lance made a face, then shrugged.  “I haven’t spoken with her in forever, Arthur.  I didn’t want to just hang up.  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…I didn’t want to upset you,” he laughed bitterly, arm pulling away from Arthur, fingers swiping at his face.  He sighed.

“I’m going to shower – okay?  Nothing’s happening between me and them.  It’s nothing.  I wouldn’t do that – to me, or you.”

_Don’t turn away don’t give in to the pain_

Arthur stared at him for a few more seconds, then nodded.  “I’m sorry, too,” he said quietly.  “I believe you, Lance.  Go shower.”

Then, almost an afterthought: “I love you.”

Lancelot’s brown eyes gazed into Arthur’s as he replied.

“You too.”

He turned and made his way up the stairs, his footfalls heavy.  Arthur couldn’t recall a time when they’d exchanged _I love you’s_ that had sounded more false.

*

Arthur’s sweat poured down his brow, the new bruises on his thigh and arm stinging slightly.  He raised a hand, his breath puffing.  “Enough – I give.”

Dagonet, one of his newest officers, laughed and removed his goggles.  “Told you I played on the team in college.”

Despite racquetball not being one of Arthur’s favorite sports, he had agreed to play when Dag had called; he had been out on the balcony, in the midst of an uncharacteristically angry workout session when the phone had rang.

Good timing too; Arthur had also been on the verge of calling Guin to see what in the hell she had wanted.

Arthur grinned briefly at the officer, moving to the bench at the back of the court, and wiped his forehead with a towel.  “Thanks for offering, at any rate,” he said, sitting to unlace his shoes.  Dag made a ‘forget about it motion,’ sitting next to Arthur, unlacing his own trainers.

“So – how’s Benoit taking the new captain?”

“What?” Arthur answered, shock on his face.  He shook his head.  “Oh – oh.  The new assignment?  Just fine.  He seems to be getting along with Cragen just fine.”

_Watch it, Arthur._

Dagonet’s bald head gleamed in the ugly fluorescent lighting of the gym as they made their way along the dim corridors of the basement where the courts were located.  “Good.  He seemed like a good cop, the few times I worked with him.  You’ve been friends a while, yes?”

“I’ve known him since high school,” Arthur said, towel wrapped around his neck, shoes thrown carelessly in his bag; he had switched to flip flops for the shower. 

They reached the locker rooms.  “That’s a long time to know someone,” the taller man commented as they pushed into the steamy room.  “I hope he treats you right.”

This time Arthur didn’t shake the shock off quite so easily.  He turned his head to look at Dagonet, who was gazing at him with no hint of malice or teasing.  “What do you mean?”  Arthur's voice was quiet, but he turned and faced the other man directly, his eyes meeting Dagonet's.

“Just what I said.  You’re a good captain, Castus, and seem to be a good man.  I wouldn’t want anyone to abuse that.  Least of all a friend you’ve had for so long.”

Arthur flushed slightly; he set his things down to avoid looking at the other man.  Were they that transparent?  Damn it.

“Uh – thank you,” he answered finally, not sure how to respond to that.  Dag nodded.  “I’ll see you on Monday, captain.  Thanks for the game.”

“Sure,” Arthur called to his retreating back.

He stripped quickly, mind absorbed in the strange conversation he had just had.  He shook his head again at last, still not sure what to think of Dagonet.  And now that Arthur knew the other man knew what he and Lancelot were, should he trust him?  The department had a strict anti-fraternizing policy among its officers.  Would Dag tell someone?

Somehow, Arthur didn’t think so.

He entered the shower, shivering as the hot water hit him.

Soaping up, he began to relax, the exercise having done more good than he had realized.  His back ached, but in a good way, and as he shut his eyes, he inhaled the steam, his thoughts drifting to the man they had been discussing.

Maybe Lancelot had been telling the truth – he had just wanted to speak to his sister.  God knew the Benoits still tried to pull Lance back in to the fold – he did receive emails from them ocassionally.  Arthur had had no right to read Lance’s private messages – and the other man hadn’t said anything about actually going to the meeting Guin had mailed him about.

Arthur began to smile as he convinced himself he was being paranoid, that Lance was just acting somewhat strangely because of the change in his job – after all, he and Arthur _had_ been getting along quite well the past few weeks.  Surely it was just a misunderstanding on Arthur’s part.

His hand slid down his stomach as he thought, and he surprised himself by the state of arousal he had apparently sprang to without noticing right off.

He laughed quietly; that the mere thought of Lance could turn him on was still a funny notion, and after his worry, a welcome one.

Leaning against the shower wall, he let the water pound him as he stroked himself, thinking of his love for Lance and what it meant to him to have the other man back in his life, the brown eyes and trim body and slender hands and full mouth filling his mind's eye.

It was better than anything he could ever have imagined.  As he came he gritted his teeth, Lance's _I love you_ echoing through his brain.

He would make sure Lance knew how much he was loved.  Arthur toweled off, his body returning to its normal state, and dressed quickly, an idea forming.

The grocers was on the way home; it would be easy to stop and get everything ready before Lance came by after work.

Whistling to himself, Arthur made his way out of the locker room, hair wet and eyes bright with possibility.

_Hold on to me love you know I can’t stay long_

*

Grumbling, Lance unlocked Arthur’s door, ready for a continuation of that morning’s discussion; instead, he got quiet music on the radio, and no Arthur.

“Hello?” he called, dropping his bag onto the floor.

“Out here,” came the voice, floating through the curtains that shielded the living space from the balcony.

Stopping in the restroom briefly, Lance checked his appearance and wiped grime and sweat off his face, then made his way to the sliding glass door, which was open into the night air.

“Arthur? You out here – oh, wow.”

Candles, everywhere.  The little ropes of tiny lights that Lance had insisted Arthur put up the previous Christmas were wrapped around the ficus and the palms that graced Arthur’s deck.  A large wool blanket and more food than Lance had seen in a week were spread out over the wood flooring, a bottle of wine and two glasses in the center.

“What the – to what do I owe the extreme pleasure?” he sighed happily, allowing his shoulders to drop their defensive posturing.  He walked slowly to the picnic, where Arthur was seated on the ground in navy uniform sweats, grinning from ear to ear.

“Happy Saturday,” he said, a goofy look overtaking his normally solemn face when he met Lance's confused eyes.

“Happy Saturday?  Did I forget some holiday – or anniversary?” Lance answered, worry filling his expression.  Arthur shook his head.  “No, no.  Sit,” he gestured to the ground, which had been swept clean.  “I was just struck with the fact that we hadn’t had a picnic in a while, so, there you go,” he trailed off, blood heating his cheeks at the look on the younger man’s face.

“Arthur – I don’t know if we’ve _ever_ had a picnic,” Lance laughed, sitting, the dark brown of his irises entrancing, then absorbing the bright green of Arthur’s.  He reached a hand out, taking Arthur’s offered fingers.  “You’re amazing.”

Arthur blushed further, which made Lance laugh again.  “It’s nothing.  Just for fun,” he said, rubbing his mouth with his free hand.  “Besides, how long has it been since you’ve had Lina Castus’ tortellini?”

“Oh my God,” Lance said, expression lighting up.  “You broke out the old recipes?  I _am_ blessed.  Thank you, Artorius,” he said, imitating Arthur’s mother’s accent.  Arthur swatted at his hand, and picked up his silverwear.  “Eat,” he said, only a little grumpy at the use of his full name, “it’s getting cold.”

“Yes, mother Castus,” Lance answered, and dug in before he could get into more trouble by making yet another silly comment.

*

“Shit, I’m full.”

Lance leant against Arthur, both of them groaning and splayed out on the rug they had dragged outside.  Wine bottle almost empty, the two men were buzzing lightly, happily stuffed and sleepy.  Arthur slid his arm under Lance's shoulders, and pulled the other man to rest more fully against him.  He burped and laughed.  “Careful,” he said, “don’t push on my stomach or you may be seeing that tortellini again.”

“Yuck,” Lance answered, and snuggled up, carefully, to Arthur’s warmth.  Whatever had lead to this, he thanked his lucky stars that it had come over Arthur, because he hadn’t truly been in the mood to fight.

Despite his guilt at his actions, and the follow up to them.  Despite his decision, and the price he knew he would have to pay.

“Arthur,” he said suddenly, “have I told you I love you?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied in a tiredly happy voice, “but you can say it again.  I’m not adverse to compliments.”

“Then I love you,” Lance continued, levering himself up on his elbow so he could look Arthur in the face.  “I love you,” he pecked the other man’s cheek, “I love you,” he bit his earlobe as Arthur snorted in humor, “I love you,” he kissed the lines between Arthur’s eyes, “I love you,” he whispered, his lips against the older man’s, and he brushed them softly across Arthur’s.

Arthur didn’t answer, he merely wrapped his arms fully around Lance, and kissed back, not gently, but as full of feeling as any _I love you_ in words.

Sighing into Arthur’s lips, Lance's eyes drifted closed, and he threaded his fingers through the other man’s hair, eliciting a small shiver that made him grin.

“Outside?  Anyone could see us,” he teased, then pinned Arthur’s arms when he tried to move them, “…not that I care, mind you.”

He made love to the other man in plain view of any person who cared to look through the folliage that coated Arthur’s balcony.

Arthur’s chest tightened and his eyes filled, so he said nothing but Lancelot's name, and loved him back with everything that meant anything to him.

*

“Good morning, Mr. Benoit.  Good to see you again, sir.”

“Hello, Michael.  Is my sister in?”

“Yes, sir.  They’re expecting you.”

“Excellent.”

The carpeting swallowed any sounds that their feet made.  Lancelot followed Guinevere’s personal assistant to her office (once his).

The eyes that met his as he made his way into the room were cold, icy and too welcoming.

“Lancelot,” Guin said by way of greeting, “Glad you could make it.  Have a seat.”

He did, his expensive suit and shoes feeling foreign to his body, so used to a crisp wool uniform and warm arms that seemed very far away now.

_Call my name and save me from the dark_  


End file.
